


Unwise and Irresistible

by jillyfae



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Age Difference, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Politics, Romance, Sexual Content, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: A Chaperone and a Delegate, one married, one soon to be engaged, but perfectly matched in thought and deed nonetheless. As inappropriate as it is possible to be... but that may be part of its charm.





	1. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Anonymous prompt request for first time oral sex](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/157255794228)

When he’d kissed her in the darkness under the stars, she’d felt the shiver all the way down her spine. When he’d slipped behind her, one brief brush of lips against the back of her neck before she’d had to step out into the hallway, she’d felt the heat curl in her throat, her chest. When he’d bowed and kissed her hand, that teasing glint in his eyes, she’d felt the tug of anticipation.

She had reason to adore the feel of the lips before now, but now, _now,_  her legs spread and her skirt pushed up, his breath on her thigh, she was afraid she’d passed adoration, passed sense, passed control, the one thing they both admired most of all.

As his tongue slipped inside her, her hips tilted, pressing against his mouth, and she could not stop the sound she made, a low desperate half a groan. He hummed, and she closed her eyes, fingers curling into the arms of her chair, she felt the whimper in her chest as she breathed in, and as his lips moved up, a kiss right where her body most ached, she knew she would give him this control over her again, _again_ , any time he asked, any time he wanted, that this was a loss she would crave.

“Softer,” he whispered into her body, and she let her mouth open, greedy gasps of air, uneven but quiet, _so quiet_ , despite the pressure building in her throat, between her legs, deeper and tighter and simmering, and he was still humming, still licking, still kissing, and she couldn’t breathe, jagged and aching, each shift of her body too sudden and ungraceful to hide her need, pain as her body shuddered and he _just, kept going._

“Please,” she begged, she _thrashed,_  felt the ache in her thighs, her hips, the weight of her breasts, the curl of her toes as she tried not to cry out loud. He chuckled, and she bit her lip, hard enough she felt the skin break, tasted blood, and he leaned in, pressure and pleasure, and she swallowed her scream,  _harder, sharper, light and heat and pleasure,_  her back arcing and her body his, _his,_  she didn’t care about her soon to be husband, or his not so distant wife, she’d always be his, body and mind, the only man who’d ever kept up with her, who’d ever pushed her further than she thought she could go. 

She shuddered as he pulled away, felt his hands give her skirt a tug to pull it back into place, and then he was kissing her mouth, her own slick warm between their lips. 

She reached up, tugged his hair, short and sharp enough to feel the gasp as his lips parted. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Whatever my lady desires,” her murmured, a hint of sincerity shivering between them. He kissed her again, the barest edge of teeth around her bottom lip before he pulled away.


	2. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Anonymous Prompt for Fictober](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/165955020073)

He hasn’t decided precisely what he’s looking for as he watches all the delegates shift and twitter back and forth, but he’s as unimpressed as he’d expected. There are a few with potential, but mostly they seem even more empty-headed than the group who’d descended on the Isle during _his_  Summit, and he isn’t entirely sure he knows how that’s possible.

The Revaire Princess is as dangerous as her reputation implied, the Lady Avalie is sharp enough to cut herself; she’s also ruthlessly practical enough he thinks she’ll manage to shred everyone else and emerge whole at the end of the Summit instead.

He’d expected both of them, been prepared for the way their eyes glinted even as they smiled.

The Corvali Songbird though.

She’s the only one who managed to surprise him. It isn’t even that she’d maneuvered her way past his guard, managed to engage him in a conversation he hadn’t planned. It was that barest hint of _disdain_  in her voice as she did so; despite her bright words and brighter smile he could hear it, could see it in her eyes:  _how dare you be surprised by my success._

_How dare you think yourself a challenge._

He knows he’s a challenge. He’s startled to find he thinks she might be as well, and isn’t that… enticing.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s exquisite and knows it, knows precisely how to present herself to her own advantage. He is going to enjoy keeping an eye on her.

 

* * *

 

Every time he looks for her, every event, every dinner, every damned tea full of children whispering in corners and playing at adults, every single day… every time he finds her already looking back at him, until he has memorized every lift of her eyebrows, every color reflecting in her eyes, every slight curve of her smile.

Every quite delightfully well-tailored outfit.

He’s possibly become ridiculous in his old age, but he doesn’t think so.

He thinks she may be the smartest woman he’s ever met, and not the straightforward sort of logic Jiyel admires, or the bright ruthless determination of most successful politicians, but something dark and twisty and brilliant as starlight, something clever for its own sake, not anyone else’s.

She may even be as smart as she thinks she is.

* * *

The first time he kisses her it is soft, so soft, as soft as the night winds that whisper in the gardens, as soft as breath, as soft as his heart has always been hard.

The first time he tastes her it is hurried, secret, her breath rough and hard and fast but quiet, as quiet as midnight, as quiet as his heart is loud.

The first time he’s inside her he watches her, watches as her breasts lift with her gasp, as her mouth opens and her eyes close on the soft cry of pleasure she doesn’t try to muffle, doesn’t try to hide, but gives to him freely, honestly, watches as she gives him everything she is, everything she desires here in the dark, and his heart breaks at how chained they both are to the rest of their lives.

If they can neither of them ever truly be free, he will make sure it’s worth it, make sure she knows why, make sure she comes apart beneath him, around him, make sure he brings them back together so they can fall apart again, makes sure he lets go of his own hard-won control for her, makes sure she hears him whisper the things they can never say in the light.

_I love you, Alessandra._

* * *

He cannot allow himself to watch her leave. Cannot let his eyes linger as she reaches her gangplank, cannot watch the way her hips move as her stride adjusts to the incline.

Not just because then he will be thinking about what’s beneath her silk trousers, the last gift he’s given her, the last he’ll be able to give her for awhile, the curve of her ass still red from the slap of his hand. Then he’ll be thinking of everything they’d done that morning before the sun rose, the sound she made deep in her throat echoing each impact of skin on skin, the curve of her spine as she’d pushed up into each hit, the jerk of her hips when he’d finally taken her, her skin scalding hot against his hips as he pushed deeper, harder, feeling the shivers of pain and pleasure combine until she couldn’t tell which was which, until pleasure overwhelmed everything else and he’d lost himself in her for one last time.

He cannot watch her leave, or someone will see how much it hurts him, and they’ll lose everything they’ve won. He’ll never be able to see her again, give himself to her again, and the promise of that tomorrow is the only way he’ll make it through today.

He hears the warning bell, opens his eyes, glances back and forth too fast for anyone besides her to follow, and lets himself smile, just a little, when he finds her leaning against the rail, chin up and the barest purse of her lips as she blows him a secret kiss.

_Until next time._


	3. know thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [inktober prompt](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/166440739103)

This was reckless of her.  

It was such a lovely gazebo in the moonlight, the view of the sea and the breeze through the columns; she wasn’t here for the view. 

Before the Summit, she had never dared be so foolhardy.

Fools didn’t last long in the Corvali Court.

But she did so adore the sight of him looking at her, the heat it kindled in her chest, _between her legs,_  when his eyes narrowed and the light glinted off his monocle and the edge of his mouth _didn’t_  curl, but she could see by the lift of his chin how much he wished to smile.

She wondered if she’d surprise a new expression out of him when he arrived. 

So unwise, to wait here. Goodness knows she’d caught the edges of a shocking number of clandestine conversations, more than one with Woodly himself in them, so there was no sensible reason to expect privacy anywhere on the Isle.

He’d been too concerned lately. She was honored, that she’d managed to make him worry. He was not usually the type. But if this was her one chance to do what she wanted, to be unconstrained by duty and politics, she was going to _take it._

She needed to know that he still thought of her as a partner, however unconventional.

She needed to know she wasn’t the only one aching.

She felt the whisper in the air more than she heard his footstep. She turned, she smiled, he stopped. His eyes didn’t _widen,_  but there was a delicious pause before his chin lifted.

“Your Grace,” Alessandra curtsied, deep and graceful, but she kept her gaze steady on his face as she moved, appreciated the care with which he watched, watched all of her, her breasts displayed above a much deeper v than was appropriate during the day, bare legs visible as the skirt of her robe spread apart beneath the tie.

He started to take another step as she rose, but stopped satisfyingly abruptly when she shook her head.

“I know who I am,” she began to until the bow at the front of her robe as she spoke, savoring the slip of silken fabric between her fingers. “I know where I came from, I know what I will have to do, once I leave this Isle.”

She let the loose tie fall, let the robe slip open, a narrow gap all the way down her front, just enough to make it clear she wore nothing underneath.

She could hear Woodly’s sigh, his breath not quite even.

“I know what I want, in this small gifted time here at the Summit.”

She stepped backwards, never letting her gaze leave his face, savoring each infinitesimal shift in his jaw, his eyebrows, his lips, the way the moonlight caught in his eyes as he watched her.

When she felt the bench behind her she pushed the robe off her shoulders, sat down upon the pool of fabric atop the wood, smiled at the shift in Woodly’s throat as he swallowed at the sight of her, all of her, bare and dark and silvered by moonlight.

“I know what I like.” She touched herself, fingers barely brushing against her throat, gentle and slow as they moved down, followed the curves of her breasts. “I know how I want to be touched,” her hands were firmer as she moved down across her stomach, her hips, until her fingers dug in, hard enough to leave faint brief valleys in the skin as she reached her thighs and pushed her legs apart. “Would you like a lesson?”

“Yes, please.” He kept his voice even, quiet, but it was deeper than she’d ever heard it before, softer. There was a flutter in her chest between her heart-beats as she leaned back, as she reached a hand between her legs, as she brushed against the curled hair and warm skin there.

She was damp already from the glint of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, and it felt better to touch herself with him watching than she’d imagined, and she’d been imagining it in great detail all day. She let herself gasp as she pushed a little harder, as she felt sweet tension already building, already making her breath unsteady, her skin heat. She felt like she was flying, a trembling lift in her chest, like she was drowning, a twisting coil of pleasure rising, higher, heavier, pulling her down, pushing her up. She could feel him watching her, feel him breathing, feel her heart race, feel the moonlight shiver between them.

She let herself cry out when she came, let her eyes close, let herself surrender completely to the pleasure, trusted him to stay where he was, trusted him to guard her, trusted him entirely.

When she’d settled, when she’d eased, she opened her eyes to see him still standing there, still waiting, his eyes shining and his mouth curved in the first truly open look of joy she’d ever seen.

She almost felt shy for a moment, but she took a breath and slipped her fingers into her mouth to suck them clean.

He shuddered, his eyes blinking closed, and she swallowed a hum of pride at the shadow on his trousers, the hint of his hard cock beneath the cloth.

She stood, and picked up her robe to wrap it around her again. She blew him a kiss as he opened his eyes, and slipped away into the shadows to head back to her room.

_Your move, darling._


	4. waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [inktober #18: waiting & _Damnant quod non intellegunt_ : they condemn what they do not understand](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/166534900038)

Woodly liked a brandy at the end of the night, one small quiet moment by himself by his window, considering the consequences of the day.

Considering how well or poorly his Prince was doing, how Wellin’s reputation had shifted, how his own personal reputation fared.

Not that that last one was terribly important, but it did  _amuse,_  how much Yvette looked at him like he was three-day old garbage someone had forgotten to take out. General Falon thought him frivolous, if not quite as light-headed as Princess Jaslen. Not that Jaslen was as flighty as she loved to appear, but she kept her thoughts too close to be shared; her only interest in him was the physical.

Not that he begrudged her the amusement.

And it was so nicely balanced out by the Lady Avalie’s flirtations, which had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with secrets and machinations.

The only person whose opinion might cause him trouble was Jasper.

Jasper’s hatred was a potent thing, wiser and deeper than Yvette’s disgust.

Justified, even, if Woodly was actually guilty of manipulating and seducing an innocent delegate. He rather thought it likely Alessandra had seduced  _him,_  but if he suggested that Jasper might very well finally lose all patience and stab him.

Which would be very messy, and make it much more difficult to steal anymore discreet rendezvous with his lady before the Summit’s end.

So how to appease the butler?

Woodly believed Jasper had hated him long before he suspected a partiality for the Corvali Songbird… simply appearing as respectful as possible in her presence wouldn’t work, even if Jasper was dim enough to fall for that. Which seemed unlikely. For all his annoyingly rigid morality, Jasper wasn’t  _stupid._

Jasper hated him for his supposed callous affairs and insistence on  _interfering_  with politics rather than just observing. But he never indulged with anyone who didn’t know what they were doing… and what good was knowledge if you didn’t  _use_  it?

So what did Woodly know?

Jasper hated interference.

Jasper wasn’t  _allowed_  interference?

Standing between his charge and the Wellin Chaperone could have negative consequences for Corval, for Wellin, for the reputation of the Summit itself!

Well. That last bit was a tad too melodramatic, but the point still stood.

How to gently  _remind_  Jasper of that without insulting his sense of propriety again?

Woodly tapped his fingernail against the rim of his glass. That might require some thought.

Perhaps he could solicit Alessandra’s advice in the morning?

Woodly smiled and turned to set his glass back on the bar.

He had a plan. All he ever needed was a plan.


	5. promises and lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [kiss prompt fill for leahazel](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/175817007678)

She kisses him like she could never want for anything else. She leans her whole body in, closes her eyes and drowns.

She kisses him like he’s the only thing in the world.

She kisses him like she’s never kissed anyone else.

Like she never will.

He kisses back the same, until her skin is flushed and her hair’s a mess, and his hands are up her skirts and she’s swallowing each soft grunt that escapes him down her own throat until her chest is full and burning.

“Please,” she whispers when his mouth slips from hers as he breathes. “It’s safe.”  


It could mean so many things, those words. _No one’s around, no one will hear, we have time._

Which is true. She made sure of it. But he knows what it really means.

_My husband took me last night._

_He won’t tomorrow._

_You can mark my skin, he won’t see it._

_You can come inside me, if I get pregnant no one will know it’s not his._

_It’s safe to forget what he feels like._

_It’s safe to lose myself in you._

So he does.

He takes her, rough and hard and quick, both of them still mostly dressed, his glasses still crooked on his face. 

They strip, slowly, luxuriously, he tastes her until she comes apart, a long shudder of her body as her hands grip the sheets and her soft moans fill the room.

He takes her again, pushes as deep inside her as he can, grips her as hard as possible, marks her skin with fingertips and lips and teeth. She screams into his shoulder when she comes, bites hard enough to break the skin, and for a moment he is the only thing in her world, she the only thing in his. 

He stays inside her, afterwards, his body softening, her skin warming, kisses her as their skin sticks and slips and sticks again. 

Time passes, whether either of them will it or not, the light turning dark and gold and red, and he knows he has to leave. He cleans himself up, gets dressed again. He looks at her, sprawled and naked and so clearly well-fucked, lips swollen and skin bruised and legs still spread a little apart. 

Alessandra’s eyes meet his, dark and shadowed, and her lips curl into a smile. Her hand reaches between her legs, and his breath catches as she touches herself. He stays there, stands there as still as stone as her hand moves, and her hips lift, and she whispers his name.

He swallows hard as she comes again, a sob just audible in the break of her voice.

She puts her fingers in her mouth, sucks them clean, and he has to close his eyes.

He opens them again, and pretends he doesn’t wish he could sob as well.

“Give your wife my best, darling.”  


He smiles, at last, at the sound of her voice, thick and slow and sated. It had been a good afternoon.

“Do not give your husband my best. I’ll see him tomorrow, myself.”  


Her smile returns, wide and reckless. She’d enjoyed how rough his voice was, enjoyed knowing precisely what she did to him. What they did to each other. “Until next time.”

He nods, and makes himself leave.

_Until next time._


End file.
